Stronger Than Yesterday
by Guard24
Summary: After everything Emma and Killian have been through, they need to work through some stuff. (Even if they don't want to.) Post Underworld speculation fic. Oneshot.


_Titled from Christina Perri's "I Believe". There's some fluff and some angst, but mostly just working through stuff because Post Underworld is my favorite thing. Reviews are what keep me going, so feel free to leave one below. (Or don't, you do you.)_

He knows they need to talk, address everything that happened as Dark Ones, but the idea of breaking this week-long blissful bubble they've created makes his stomach churn and skin crawl. It's been a week of passionate kisses and gentle caresses, waking up completely tangled in each other, reveling in the life he feels when their bodies touch, when his half of her heart beats rapidly in his chest. Loving her makes it easier not to dwell on how much he hates himself. It was bad enough before, the self loathing and regret eating him from the inside out, the burn of rum and scent of the sea giving him a release that also kept the feelings bottled inside. He could mask it with a moniker - Captain Hook - the greedy, cutthroat pirate who cares of nothing and no one. Which worked until he cared with the fury of his whole soul, loving so deeply that it consumed him just as much as the darkness had. He thought he was rebuilding his life from the despicable man that lust and revenge made him, becoming the Killian Jones his younger self had wanted to be, atoning for centuries of wrongdoings and _trying_ to be someone Emma deserved. (An impossible feat as far as he's concerned, but god he loves her and that was enough for now.)

Then in an unexpected and ironic twist, she became tethered to _the_ darkness. And even after their reunion in Camelot, he felt lost at sea, like knowing there is land somewhere yet not knowing which way to navigate. Every answer delivered more questions as Emma grew increasingly weaker and ever so slowly gave into the temptations that screamed in her head. Her demons became his as he longed to take this pain from her.

Six weeks later, however, he found himself in the same spot as she, despite his pleas to let him die. He _knew_ he couldn't handle it. Though he has forgiven her, there's a sliver of resentment from the time she tethered him to the darkness to right before he handed her Excalibur to rid the world of the embodiment of evil - along with himself - once and for all, that he cannot quell. He hates himself even more for this awry feeling.

They need to talk.

The emotions swirl inside him like a hurricane, words lodged in the back of his throat and a voice in his head that nags them to spew out. So he rolls out of bed, careful not to wake her, and descends down the stairs to make her coffee and brace himself for what's to come.

He smiles at her when she enters the kitchen, donning his oversized t-shirt and sleep mussed hair sticking out at all ends. She grumbles _good morning_ before accepting the mug and taking the empty chair next to him.

He knows better than to speak before the coffee sets in, returning his Swan to what she calls "functioning mode". Instead he takes her hand in his, calloused thumb smoothing soft circles into her delicate skin until she presses a kiss to his forehead. There's still a drag in her step as she walks to dispose of the mug in the dishwasher. She has a sixth sense about her when it comes to him, the impending conversation making her muscles stiffen as she releases a deep sigh from the hollow of her throat.

"Can we wait?" Emma asks, dancing on the balls of her feet. "Just til tonight. I promised Henry we would meet him for lunch today and I think he's starting to worry that we haven't exactly left the house."

"Emma-"

"I promise we'll talk about it tonight. I'm not running from you, not anymore."

"Well I suppose we needn't worry the lad any longer." She's stalling, of that he is certain. But she hasn't had the whole morning to process it like he has, nor to bottle up the courage to actually do so. (Both steps of opening up have always been huge hurdles for her, and now she's raw and vulnerable and almost ready to start their future together. She went to hell for him; he can wait a few more hours.)

Lunch passes and he's never been more grateful for Henry's ability to carry on a one way conversation. There's a tension ebbing at the surface, but the young author doesn't seem to notice as he catches Killian and Emma up on the latest happenings of the town and their family. Emma interlocks their fingers the whole meal through, squeezing when Henry closes with asking how they are. He's so earnest too, as Henry's concerned green looks into Killian's blue then back to Emma. Her response - _We're okay, kid. we're getting there_ \- eased the nerves he didn't realize were there.

After, she goes to visit her parents while he goes to the docks, an unspoken understanding that they need a few moments of distance first. He tends to _The Jolly_ and returns a few hours later to find Emma curled up against the arm of the couch in leggings and an oversized sweater, toying with the ring around her neck.

"How are your parents?" Killian asks, joining her on the opposite end of the sofa.

"They're good. Neal is getting so big." Her long hair looks darker in the dim of their living room. The shadows cast on her face highlight her melancholic stare towards the window. He can feel her hesitancy, the relieved pain and anticipation in the set of her brows and distracted gaze. She opens her mouth to speak several times to no avail, silence slicing the air between them. It isn't until she turns to him, eyes dropping downward to examine the design etched into his ring, (the one that gives her strength and courage when everything around her is crumbling) that she lets the words escape. "Killian, I'm sorry. Not for saving you, I can't apologize for that. But that when you asked for my trust, I lied. I couldn't return it."

"I'm sorry too, love." He doesn't know how to word what for - that there's an anger simmering beneath that he had to bring this up in the first place. They're true love, they've forgiven each other even if they haven't worked through -

"How do you feel, Killian?" Emma's voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts. Her face hardens in consideration, her eyes boring into his with all the heaviness of the moment. "And don't say you're fine when you aren't. You can fool Henry, my parents, but not me. Don't hold back. We've been through too much."

"Have I ever once, since knowing you, not given you a choice? Every step in this relationship and outside of it, I have always done my best to make sure whatever was happening, your wishes were honored. I made sure Regina and your mother couldn't use that bloody dagger to control you. I knew I couldn't handle the darkness and that I was - and still am - capable of more evil than you could imagine. I almost condemned the entire bloody town to eternal damnation. Your family, your boy..."

"I couldn't lose you, Killian. You know that. If the roles were switched, you would have done the same."

"No, Swan. I wouldn't have turned you into that monster. The monster that took my hand and crushed Milah's heart without missing a beat. I've given into that darkness before and I would never want, much less force, that on you."

"So your magical solution is that I watch you die? I love you and there was something I could do to save you, so I did. It might not have been the smartest decision but it was a hell of a lot better than losing you forever. I didn't do it to hurt you." Her speech quickens as an anger builds and escapes through her frustrated tone. "You said you will never stop fighting for us. Why do you think, for a second, that I would? This isn't a one way relationship, Killian."

"Do you not think I know that? But I have spent centuries giving into the darkness-"

"If you spent half the energy that you use putting faith in me and put in yourself maybe you would see what I do every time I look at you! And you could realize that not only are you enough," The stark contrast of the meaning of the words and the way at which they are shouted at him in exasperated rage is not lost on him. She catches it too, inhaling deep before continuing in a much calmer, almost desperate plea. "But you're so much more. Your past is not the man you are now."

He doesn't deserve this grace and mercy. However, his resistance is growing thin. He'll go along with it for now, but his mind is drawn back to the words he voiced to crush her spirit. (To crush her.) Everything birthed out of darkness and the desire it has to watch the world bleed and suffer at its hands. "What about all those things I said to you?"

"I'm not gonna pretend they don't hurt. Stings like a bitch, especially," She pauses, wishing away the strain in her voice, but it only grows stronger. "Especially when you weren't exactly wrong." Her head drops at the admission, her eyes staring intensely at her hands in a feeling he knows all too well. He moves to her then, interlacing his fingers with hers.

"Oh, love but I was." He goes on to list his reasonings, how even in just the past week she has made it clear she's no longer afraid of the future spoken of in Camelot, and how she gathered her family together to help her dig herself out of the mess she made, not trying to tackle literal hell alone when she had made up her mind, and how the only thing she distracts him from is his demons. (That, and trying to leave the house for a prior arrangement, but that's as much his fault as hers.) She takes it in strides, leaning her forehead against his with shut eyes and letting the words seep over the ones previously spoken from a heart gripped by darkness.

 __ _He kisses her then, soft and slow. It doesn't erase the memories or pain, doesn't heal the wounds they've inflicted or anger he feels towards himself. But the weight that was pressing against his chest is lifted and he knows they'll be okay._


End file.
